A Tune Without Words
by SquintSquad17
Summary: She staggered just enough to make Erik glance down at her – her skin looked so pale that it was very nearly translucent. "Christine," he muttered, "please think twice before fainting." Christine returns to Erik after a terrible attack.
1. The Angel Returns

**A/N: **Er, well, I wasn't sure I wanted to post this or not, but here it is. Please let me know what you think if you make it to then end of the chapter – good, bad, ugly, etc. If I'm horribly maiming all things Phantomy, don't hesitate to tell me. If anyone cares, influences come from Leroux, Kay, ALW's musical, and maybe a tiny bit of the movie. I don't own any of these characters or the Emily Dickinson poem the title is from. And things should be explained a little better soon. :)

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Christine stepped out of the small chapel and into the crisp night air. Darkness that had not been here an hour ago now surrounded her, and Christine clutched her wrap tighter as she made her way down the street. The area was not the nicest, but the tiny church had offered a place that was near enough her home to walk, but far enough that she might avoid being recognized.

It had been her father's birthday and Christine had needed some time to think in quiet; she needed to escape the large estate that had been her home for nearly a year now. It had taken careful steps and a notion to say hidden to escape the home without a servant noticing, but luckily, over the past twelve months, Christine had become very good at being invisible.

As she continued to walk, Christine thought about what leaving unnoticed would mean. To wander about the streets of Paris unaccompanied was a grave impropriety, not to mention a dangerous one, Christine knew. She also knew she would have been permitted to come to the chapel chaperoned, but she had so needed to do this alone. Had normal circumstances applied, she wouldn't have minded, but as it was, Christine wished to be alone with the memory of her father.

Christine shook her head lightly. She had taken today to remember, but now she needed to forget. Sighing softly, she picked up the pace of her steps ever so slightly; it was still a way till home.

As she passed buildings and stands, Christine noticed the sudden sound of footsteps approaching. It wasn't as if the street was devoid of noise – on the contrary, it was filled with a few passers-by trying to make it home for the evening – but this noise was disconcertingly close.

Christine was about to turn around when a large hand found its way to her side. Christine froze; every muscle in her body tightened and she stood rooted to the spot. Another hand clasped her wrist tightly.

"Good evening, Christine de Chagny," a voice whispered in her ear. "I've been waiting for a long time to get you alone."

Christine's breath caught in her throat and shivers exploded over her body. _Who was this man?_

"If you scream or give anything away, I'll kill you right here. By the time anyone notices, I'll be long gone," the deep voice threatened. "I wished to have my fun first with you first, _Christine_, but if I must kill you earlier than I planned, so be it. Do you understand?"

A few tears slipped from the corners of her blue eyes as Christine nodded, unable to do anything more. She glanced around frantically, hoping someone would notice her alarm. Surely anyone could see the cruel way the man was twisting her arm?

"Good girl," her captor murmured. "Now, follow me, if you please."

As if in a dream, Christine felt herself being dragged along, the man's hand still clamped painfully over her wrist. She didn't recognize her attacker – a middle-aged man, tall and broad-shouldered with black hair – and she was sure it would be useless to ask.

Paroxysms of fear ran through her body as the man led her down a dark alley, away from any of the eyes that could still save her. If anyone back on the street had seen anything unusual about the tall man leading the petite woman, they had done nothing about it.

Twisting and turning through the back alleys, it was painfully obvious to Christine that there was now no chance anyone would happen upon them. He would kill her without anyone being the wiser until some urchin found her beaten body the next morning.

When they finally stopped moving, they were in a space between the walls of two buildings. A silent moment passed, seeming to last forever, before the man closed the distance between them.

"Now, now, my dear," the man said, grinning sardonically, "there's no reason to look so frightened – not yet at least. Didn't I tell you I've waited for such a long time to do this?"

He took another step closer, leaving no space between them. The man crushed his lips to Christine; his hands gripped her, yanking through her hair. She struggled against him, but the man overpowered her and his kisses became fiercer, more painful.

The man's hands fumbled with the clasp of Christine's dress, trying to rip it open.

"No – no!" Christine choked out. "Stop!"

She pulled away, but was yanked back instantly. The man's lips found hers again, and this time she felt blood trickle into her mouth at the strength of the kiss.

This time, the man's hands ripped her dress in the front, the tear starting at the neckline and going down dangerously close to her chest.

Dear God, what would this man do to her? She had to fight it.

Summoning all her strength, Christine brought her knee up and connected it with the man's body. Her attacker hissed in pain and released her.

"You bitch!" the man shouted. "You don't want a few moments' pleasure before I kill you? Fine."

The unexpected strike across her face knocked the breath from her. Christine staggered but almost regained her balance when the man shoved her once more. She fell to the ground, giving a cry of pain as she felt her wrist snap. In trying to catch herself, Christine had landed on her right wrist.

The man loomed over her, leering. "Having fun, Christine?"

She tried to scramble up, but a kick to her ribs knocked her down again. Pain exploding in her stomach this time, Christine cried out once more. Again, she wondered who this cruel person was, and why he had taken her.

"Time to get up," the man hissed, yanking Christine to her feet.

The man took a step closer to her and then grasped her shoulders and shoved her against the wall of an old building. His hands moved to her neck, and then he squeezed, choking the life out of her.

Christine tried to fight him, but her cracked ribs and wrist prevented her from doing anything. Her hands hit the man's shoulders feebly, accomplishing nothing.

She was tired, so tired. Maybe it would be easier to give up now. She would see her mother and father again. Yes, Christine thought, letting go would be much simpler. She continued to struggle fruitlessly against the iron grip the man hand around her neck, but all air was leaving her. Her vision was clouding and darkening, and the pain that had been consuming her moments ago was drifting away. Sweet oblivion was within her reach.

Then, suddenly, someone else was in the alley with them. No sound had alerted his arrival – a shadow had simply appeared out of the darkness. The vise-like grip around her throat released, and Christine crumpled to the ground. Her attacker turned around the face whoever had come to her rescue.

Then, a voice rang out. It was deep and full of barely controlled rage. "If you wish to be alive in the morning, Monsieur, release the girl."

"Who are you?" Christine's assailant shouted, eyes searching for the other man. "Where are you?"

"Where am I? My dear man, where am I not?" The voice came from Christine's left, then her right. All around. No person showed themselves, but a flash of a Punjab lasso appeared for a fleeting moment, just long enough for the other two to catch sight of it. "This is the last time I shall ask you: release the girl. I assure you that my lasso will not make such a kind offer in a moment."

A moment's silence before the disembodied voice continued. "On second thought, perhaps I will kill you whether you decide to release the girl now or not. I can't have you coming after her again, now can I?"

The attacker in front of Christine suddenly started, and then moved away from her quickly. He was gone in a flash; disappearing as quickly as the other man had appeared. The evil man's voice echoed through the alley as he left. "You've not seen the last of me."

Silence filled the night, save for Christine's rapid breathing. The man who had come to her rescue, could it be…

"Damn." The second voice, her savior's voice, rang through the air. "I should have killed him earlier."

At this, Christine let out a small whimper of pain. Her ribs, her throat, her wrist – all on fire. Though her oxygen had returned, so had the horrible hurt of her injuries,

"_Mon Dieu_," the man murmured.

He was kneeling next to her before she could realize what was happening. Through her haze of pain, she found herself marveling at the fact that her own angel had returned to her. How had he found her?

She opened her mouth to speak, to say something, but all that managed to come out was a horrible sound. "Erik," she croaked.

"Don't try and speak," he replied firmly. "I'll get you help soon. Damn de Chagny for letting you out there alone."

"Didn't know," Christine choked out, her throat burning painfully.

Erik said nothing for a long moment, and finally, darkness clouded Christine's vision once again. She thought she felt a ghost of a touch against her hair, but couldn't be sure a second later. Another cry a pain escaped her mouth and she barely noticed as he scooped her into his arms.

"Oh, Christine, my angel."

His voice was the last thing she remembered as she slipped completely into blackness.


	2. Have You Forgotten?

**A/N**: Well, here's the second chapter – I hope you like it! It's a bit rushed and a bit short, but they should hopefully be getting longer/better soon; I'm just trying to set everything up for now. A very big thank you to everyone who's reviewed so far! I love hearing what you think, so good or bad, please let me know:)

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As soon as her eyes had closed in the alley, Christine had begun to dream. Vivid dreams, ones more realistic than she had ever had before. It was as if she was truly awake and experiencing the events with sounds and colors that were lifelike.

In actuality, Christine was _remembering_ more than she was dreaming. The flashes that came to her in the darkness were memories of events that had happened to her in the past – brief glimpses of things from her childhood, her time at the opera house and the time after…

_Christine watched, eyes focused solely on her father. The slow tune that was escaping from his violin, all at once both melancholy and sweet, captivated her. As the song ended, its last note hovering in the air, Christine managed to find her words._

"_That was beautiful!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands together in delight. "One day you will be famous and play for grand audiences!"_

"_Now, Christine," her father said with a smile, "I disagree. You will be the one to amaze audiences with your song. Your voice is that of an angel's own."_

_Christine had delighted in the praise and when the violin struck up its song once again, she joined in, her voice blending easily with the music._

---

"_Christine, just imagine!" Raoul said, his handsome face alight with unrestrained excitement. "Tomorrow we shall be married and you'll become Christine de Changy."_

_Christine returned his smile, hoping he wasn't observant enough to notice it didn't quite reach her eyes. "It's all so exciting," was her soft reply._

_Raoul reached out and gently held one of Christine's hands. Leaning in, he kissed her softly. When they pulled apart, he smiled once again and said, "How happy we'll be, Little Lotte."_

_Christine nodded, the same stilted smile appearing on her lips once more. She wished she had his confidence. Of course she loved Raoul, but his kiss made her think of one that was more passionate, more damning. And mostly, one that she couldn't forget._

---__

The doctor's face was grim and Christine felt tears spring to her eyes immediately. She knew that look – she had seen it so many years before when her father had died. Still, the slight moment she had to realize what was coming did nothing to soften the blow.

"_I'm sorry, Madame de Chagny, but the Viscomte…. We did everything we could, but there was nothing else to be done." _

_Tears flew down her cheeks silently. This couldn't be happening; it had to be a horrible dream. Raoul wasn't, he couldn't… Her breaths came in short gasps and the room began to spin. _

_She faintly heard the doctor ask if she was all right before she fell to the floor in an ungraceful heap._

---

When Christine felt herself hit the floor in her dream, it was as though the fall had given her the jolt to wake up to real life. As her eyes fluttered open, she tried to remember where she was and how she had gotten here. She was lying in a soft bed of some sort, but the dim light made it impossible to tell much else at the moment.

Her thoughts, however, did not progress any more than that before she was assaulted by a wave of pain. Memories came rushing back – visions of being beaten and strangled coupled with glimpses of someone coming to her rescue when she had thought all hope was lost…

"I see you've finally awoken." Erik's voice filled the room suddenly, and Christine turned her head to see where he was. She found him quickly, sitting in a chair next to her bed. The sight of him was nearly enough to make her breath catch; it had been so long since she had seen his familiar mask. Adjusting his position in the chair slightly, he asked, "Are you feeling all right?"

Christine almost laughed. What an absurd question. How on earth could she be feeling all right when she had been attacked, and then saved by a man she had been trying to forget? "No," she said, her voice hoarse, "but I suppose the pain is preferable to lying somewhere in an alley."

A muscle in Erik's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but he said nothing. Christine sat in the silence for a moment before she felt as if it would suffocate her. "I- I," she began. She stopped momentarily, unsure of what to ask. "Why am I here?"

It had not been quite what she meant to say, but she supposed it was a reasonable enough question. After all, why had he not taken her back to her home so she could get help there, or at the very least, to the doctor?

"You, my dear Madame," Erik said coolly, "had the remarkable foresight to lose consciousness before I could return you to the de Chagny estate and allow you to explain what had happened. Without your word, I rather doubted that a masked man appearing with an injured Viscomtess in my arms would garner any warm affection. This was closer than the doctor, and I have enough medical knowledge to know none of your injuries are life-threatening."

Christine tried to avoid the edge in his voice and collect her thoughts. Erik had taken her from the streets and brought her _somewhere_ so she could recover. She was hurt, but not badly, and she would be better in time. _Time! _That brought another question. "How long have I been here?" Christine asked.

"No more than two hours," was the brisk reply.

"It must be so late – they'll worry," Christine murmured, realizing belatedly that no one would know where she was. What would they do when they saw that she hadn't returned home?

Before Christine could say anything else, Erik stood up abruptly. Stepping away from the chair, he said, "As soon as it's light, I will see you safely home, so you don't need to worry about bearing my presence much longer. You can tell your dear husband you went to the chapel last night, and on your way home you were attacked. Say someone was able to help you and brought you to a doctor." Erik paused and reached to the table behind him. Showing her a bottle, he continued, "You are to drink one swallow of this a day until the pain is gone. The _doctor_ set your wrist in a brace of sorts, your scrapes will heal nicely, and the bruising around your neck will fade soon. I'm sure everyone will be so delighted to see you've returned, they won't question you too closely at first. You should have time to plan something believable."

The same silence from before settled in the room once more as he stopped. There was so much Christine needed to tell him, but she couldn't find her courage to speak and she hated herself for it. She thought briefly of thanking him, believing it to be simple enough, but found even that would require strength she currently couldn't muster.

It was Erik who finally broke the silence. "You should sleep for now," he told her in a voice that left no room for question.

As if taking orders from his words, a wave of exhaustion washed over her, and her eyelids fluttered shut. As she heard his footsteps begin to retreat from the room, she opened her eyes once more. She would sleep in a moment, but first, she had a question to ask. "Erik?" Christine called, hating her voice for sounding so utterly pathetic.

He turned around slowly, his eyes finding hers, challenging her to speak.

"Where I am?" she asked. She had tried to make out her surroundings, but through the pain and utter shock at seeing Erik again, she had been unable to focus on anything that could give away her location.

Erik laughed then, cold and mirthless, the sound echoing the small room. "Surely it hasn't been so long, Christine? Have the memories faded so quickly that you have forgotten your beloved opera house?" 

Another terrible laugh escaped, and with that, he spun from the room.

Christine now found herself completely alone, trying to wrap her mind around how she had come to be underneath the opera house with Erik once more.

**A/N**2: Next chapter might be partly from Erik's point of view. Would that be distracting to read? I'd like to know what anyone reading this thinks: Christine's viewpoint only, or a mix of both:)


	3. A Cruel Thing

**A/N**: I thought about this for a while, and in the end, Erik's POV seemed like the best thing to do. This chapter should explain what our favorite phantom has been doing for the past year. (For the sake of the story, Nadir never came to the opera house, but he'll be appearing in this fic at some point.) Let me know how you like the change in perspective, and I'll most likely be alternating between Christine and Erik pretty evenly. Thanks to every who has reviewed so far – it makes my day:)

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_Hope is worst of evils, for it prolongs the torments of man.  
- Friedrich Nietzsche_

---

As Erik closed the door to Chri – _Madame de Chagny's_ room, he found himself sorely in need of a distraction. An instrument to play, a book to read, a threatening note to write – anything that would take his mind off the angel lying so near to him.

Whatever he tried, though, he knew it wouldn't work. Erik would still be acutely aware that Christine was so close, and this was maddening. It was all Erik could do to keep from going back into the room and resuming his vigil by her bedside. Just watching her, after so long apart, was enough to make him feel as though he'd want for nothing else the rest of his life.

At the very least, seeing her asleep and breathing was better than the sight of his angel lying broken on the ground. _That_ horrible image was still burned into his memories. Christine had looked so small and fragile lying there, red marks encircling her throat, her beautiful face scratched and bleeding. Unimaginable rage had coursed through him when he saw her, along with a less familiar feeling. _Fear. _For one terrible moment, Erik had thought he was too late, that the attacker was going to strangle Christine to death.

If he ever saw that man again, God help him, one more murder would be added to his list of sins. The bastard deserved everything that was coming to him though, whoever he was.

That thought brought another to Erik's mind – who _was _Christine's attacker? His first thought was that she had simply been victim of a random attack, but that idea had been forgotten when he remembered the man had known her name. It couldn't have been an enemy of Christine's, as Erik didn't imagine a former opera singer could have collected any enemies over the years, and in any case, he would have noticed if she had. That left one other person who could have caused this…

De Changy – it had to be. Why else would someone try to hurt Christine? Her husband, however, would likely have some people who wished him ill – whether because of his own actions, or through his family's, Erik neither knew nor cared. Knowing de Chagny was what had caused the man to pull Christine into that dark alleyway made Erik despise the foolish boy more than ever, and he hadn't really thought that possible.

It had almost been too late when Erik had arrived, and it had been completely by accident that he had at all. It had been nearly a year since he had been in Paris, and the sheer luck of having been slinking through the shadows of that particular alley did not escape him.

He had spent twelve months traveling across Europe, doing nothing but writing music and trying to forget the girl who seemed determined to haunt his every waking moment. Erik had seen Nadir for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, and it had been his friend's advice to return to Paris for one last time before settling somewhere else permanently. And so he had returned to France, returned to his opera house, and returned to Christine.

_Christine. _Erik hadn't intended on seeing her, but she had walked right by him that evening as he was purchasing a few items. He had been shocked to see her in that part of Paris; he had only been there because it was an area where people did not take to questioning his mask too greatly. But there she had been, walking into a small chapel, a forlorn expression etched on her delicate features. One glimpse of her had been enough to send him reeling. He had moved away quickly before she had any chance to notice his presence, and took to walking the alleys trying to clear his mind.

He had still been there some time later when he had heard the man's threatening growl and Christine's small cry. Thinking of her pain, Erik wished again he had killed the man when he'd had the chance – how satisfying it would have been to see him fall to the ground.

It would also be rather rewarding, Erik mused, to see his noose around Raoul's neck once more. He knew he could never kill him, for Christine's sake, but to think of him gone and far away from his angel was more than pleasant.

She had said he hadn't known she was out, but Erik didn't see how that could have happened. Surely servants were aware of Christine's movements, and de Chagny would certainly not like to be away from his beloved for so long. Something didn't quite add up about all that had happened, and Erik was unsure as to what it could be. Still, he couldn't excuse the fool for causing Christine's attack.

But at least she was safe for now. Although, Erik thought miserably, she wouldn't stay that way for long if he kept her here. An angel belonged out of hell, away from a demon. And so he would return her, as promised, to the de Chagny estate in a few hours' time at first light.

Erik wished selfishly that he could keep Christine here until she had healed, but knew it was impossible. If he did that, it would be too hard to let her go again. God knew the first time had been more than he could bear.

Still, it was enough for her to be here until the morning. And Erik was still slightly surprised that she would even be here in the morning. When she had awoken and asked where she was, Erik had half expected her to run screaming from the room, or start crying in fear. Instead she had done neither. It was as if she wasn't scared of him, as if she didn't hate him.

_No,_ he deserved her hate for all he had done; he could not expect anything better, and didn't dare to hope for it.

Hope, to Erik, was a cruel thing that he would do well to avoid. It did nothing but make it so much worse when everything fell apart.

He had hoped as a little boy for his mother to love him, to kiss him. That had ended in nothing but a lost childhood that had really never been there to begin with. He had hoped, after Persia, that he would find a way to live a normal life as he had always wanted. That had ended with more murders, more crimes, and more proof he was truly a monster. He had hoped, God help him he had hoped, that Christine would love him. That had ended in a way that Erik preferred not to think about.

Nothing he hoped for had ever happened, and when the small dream that it might was crushed, it was enough to drive him into madness. So that was why, after the fire, at the opera house, Erik had sworn off hope for the rest of his life. He would be a man devoid of any emotion Christine had brought out him; he would become the monster he had always known he was.

At the thought, Erik glanced involuntarily to the door that led to Christine's room. He cursed himself then, knowing that the spark of hope had flared briefly somewhere in his chest when she had spoken his name for the first time in that alley. Event then, it had not been a voice of hate and fear like he had been expecting, but rather one of thankfulness and assurance that he had come to save her.

"Erik?"

At the sound of the small voice he started, surprised. Erik had not been expecting Christine to wake up until he come in to tell her they would leave for her home. He knew she must be exhausted, not to mention in pain, so he had no idea as to why she would need him at the moment.

He stood from the chair he had been sitting in and took a step towards the door before pausing. Perhaps he had imagined the voice?

"Erik, could you come here for a moment?" Christine called, her voice still hoarse.

No, he had not been imagining it, although Erik expected it would be better if he had. He took another step towards the room before saying in a cool voice, "I'm coming, Madame de Chagny."

As Erik opened the door, he ignored the hope that had begun to spark again.

**A/N2: **Meh. Good Erik POV? Bad Erik POV? I'm gesturing to the review button now, by the way. :)


	4. No Straight Lines

**A/N**: Thanks again to everyone who's reviewed so far! Sorry it took me so long to update – I blame school! Well, hope you enjoy this (fairly long, by my standards) chapter, and don't forget to review:)

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_Everything in the universe goes by indirection. There are no straight lines.  
– Ralph Waldo Emerson_

---

Christine attempted to calm her breathing as she watched the door open slowly but it seemed to be for naught. _Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. _Christine sighed - it was her fault, though, she knew. She had wanted Erik to come back into the room, but she hadn't really thought about what she was doing – she had simply woken up and her first instinct had been to ask for him.

It was still so strange being back here, back near her Angel. In all their time apart, she had tried hard to avoid thinking about whether they would meet again, and under what circumstances it might have happened. Certainly, nothing like this had crossed her mind.

Christine took one last steadying breath as he completely came into the room and moved to stand beside her. She was still lying in the soft bed and felt a bit vulnerable as he towered over her. Christine had managed to prop herself up against the pillow, though, albeit with some difficulty. The pain that had been numbed earlier was finally starting to manifest, and each slight motion jarred her sore ribs. She raised her eyes to meet his, and at the same time, he began to speak.

"You called?" Erik's voice was neutral, neither annoyed nor concerned.

"Yes," Christine murmured, unsure of where to start. She lowered her eyes from his masked face and instead stared intently at the pattern on the bed sheets. Her delicate fingers traced the small design as moments slipped by in silence.

When it became clear she was not going to continue, Erik spoke again, saying, "I was expecting you to sleep longer; are you not comfortable?"

"No, no, I am," Christine said. "I just – I needed to speak with you." There. She had at least admitted that much. Now all she needed to do was tell him exactly why that was. That part, Christine mused, was going to be undoubtedly harder.

At her words, Erik merely raised an eyebrow and proceeded to sit down in the chair that was still next to her bed. His amber eyes gazed intently at her, but an indifferent expression settled firmly in place.

Christine stole a small glance at him before looking down once more. At least with him sitting down, his presence was less intimidating; but as Christine searched for her words, she found that with him so near, she could think of nothing to say. There was so much she needed to tell him, but _where to begin?_ Christine was unsure how she could explain everything to someone else, when she couldn't even begin to explain all that had happened in last year to herself.

Finally, Erik's cool voice intruded into her thoughts. "Are you going to begin talking anytime soon? Or, perhaps I should leave until you gather your thoughts. After all, I do have a few things to take care of. I may have abandoned my post as _beloved _Opera Ghost-" he smiled wryly "– but I have not remained idle since then, Madame de Chagny."

"_Christine,_" she said suddenly, having finally found her voice, and with it, a hint of annoyance. It was a silly thing to squabble with him about, but Christine found herself wanting to hear him speak her name once more, the formal address bothering her perhaps more than it should have. "You've always called me Christine before. If you insist on 'Madame de Chagny' I suppose I'll have to address you by your last name as well."

"That would require me to have one," Erik said dryly, his stare still as intense as ever.

Christine turned to look at him once more. "Would Monsieur Fantôme suit you, then?"

"Fine, _Christine_," Erik drawled, pressing his long, gloved fingers together. "Please, do continue with what you intended on telling me; otherwise I was speaking the truth when I said I had other matters to attend to. Unless, you have indeed called me here to discuss such trivialities as last names?"

"Of course I didn't," Christine replied. She took a final moment's pause before settling on a place to begin. It was a relatively safe topic – at least in the sense that she didn't think it would cause his temper to flare right away. Although she really had no way to know; he could be very temperamental…

"I've thought about it a bit more, and I still don't recall having seen my attacker before," Christine said, trying to keep any sign of unease out of her voice. Thinking about that night scared her, and she didn't want to lose what little courage she had worked up. "But if it is of any use to you, I've felt like someone has been watching me for some time now. I don't think the man grabbed me on a whim."

Christine paused and took a deep breath before adding, "And I wanted to know if you had thought of anything else that might be helpful in figuring out who the man was."

At the mention of her attack, Christine had noticed something dark flash in Erik's eyes, but when he spoke, his voice was completely controlled. "I did not think it was a random act either; he knew your name and that would belie it being unprecedented. The only other conclusion I've reached is that there is probably some connection to your husband."

"I don't think that's likely," Christine said softly. Her stomach gave a small lurch at the thought of Raoul and all that had happened recently. She silently thanked God she was sitting, for if she had been standing, she was sure she would have found the room spinning.

"You naivety knows no bounds, Christine! Is it too hard for you to believe that your precious boy could have made himself a few enemies? Or that his family was not the perfect picture of nobility they would have led you to believe?" Erik said, disdain dripping from his every word.

"No, it is just – I only meant." Christine paused, wishing her voice would not sound quite so pathetic. "Raoul is _dead_, Erik," she said finally. "I don't see why someone would harm me now that he is g- gone."

Christine shivered and gripped the edges of the sheets tightly, knuckles turning white. She had not expected to confess this so soon, but now that she had told Erik what she had meant to since she had first realized she was with him once more, it was somewhat of a release.

Now if only he would say _something._ Silence had followed her quiet words, the lack of sound all encompassing. Christine thought she would surely be suffocated by the horrible stillness around her. Finally, Erik said, "My condolences."

Christine watched him carefully, but could not tell if he was being sincere or merely sarcastic. "Do not mock me, Erik," she said, her voice still soft.

"Did I appear to be jesting?" At these words he stood, towering above her once again. The chair tumbled over with a _crash_ but both ignore it. "I _am _capable of some empathy, despite what most think," he spat.

His harsh words took Christine by surprise, although she knew she should have expected as much. "I did not mean that you could not care, only that I know you did not care for Raoul."

She watched, anxiety mounting, as he took a step towards the bed, his knees nearly touching the side.

"Even if your husband and I did not, shall we say, see eye to eye on everything, I would not wish that sort of pain on you. Losing someone you love is not something I would take lightly," Erik said, eyes flashing with some mixture of anger and bitterness.

Christine thought for a moment she saw his arm jerk upward, as though he was going to reach out to her. But nothing happened, and then she was sure she had only imagined it.

And as quickly as the smallest hint of vulnerability had shown itself, it was gone, indifference and a cool tone in its place. Erik retreated from the side of her bed and took a step towards the door. "Whether or not your husband is there, you need to return to your home," he said. "You are still the Vicomtess de Chagny, and your place is certainly not here with a monster."

Christine opened her mouth to reply, but she could find nothing to say. Erik simply watched her for a moment with that same penetrating stare before continuing.

"As I said before, I will return once it is morning to take you home. Do notask for me unless it is absolutely necessary." Erik stalked the rest of the distance to the door, laying an elegant hand on the handle before adding, "A _chat_, my dear, does not qualify as such, in case you should think of other pressing matters to talk about."

He left then, leaving Christine as utterly alone as he had the first time he had stormed from her room. The only small comfort she had was that he had not yelled as she thought he might. But after recalling all he had said, Christine wondered if his cold, calculating responses were not worse than shouting. At least_ that _would have conveyed a bit of emotion.

Christine sighed, letting out a breath she was unaware she had been holding. She felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes, and rubbed at them with a bit more force than necessary.

_What do I do? I loved Raoul, I did – I still do – but he never made me feel like Erik does. It can't be right, can it? That I feel so much for one man. Oh, God, What do I do?_

The answer, at the moment, was that there was nothing _to _be done. She could only wait until the morning light when Erik would return her to the estate. And when that time came, Christine had no idea what she would do.

_God, help me, I can't leave him again, I can't. I barely made it through the first time, and I won't be able to bear it the second. But what other choice do I have?_

---

**A/N2**: In the next chapter, Christine returns to the de Chagny estate, but what happens then? Review:)


	5. Damn the Consequences

**A/N**: I'm still here! I know it's been forever since I've updated, but I hope you haven't forgotten me completely. Please direct all complaints about me being a slowpoke to the review box. Oh, and this chapter was supposed to be the return to the estate, but I want to do that from Erik's POV, so here's another in-between chapter. Enjoy! :)

* * *

It seemed as though it would become an unfortunate reoccurrence that whenever Christine slept, she would have these awful, vivid dreams. And not just any sort of dreams – certainly not like the ones she had had before the attack. Then, when Raoul was alive and they lived at the de Chagny estate, Christine dreamt infrequently, at best. When she did dream, the visions were hazy, full of unbelievable happenings and fanciful things. Everything was easily discernable from reality, and nothing even approached the classification of a nightmare.

Now, with this new type of dream, Christine could always see perfectly, could always hear with exact clarity. It was unsettling, to say the least, and she was quickly learning to dread closing her eyes. This night, rather than remembering Raoul or her father as she had before, Christine instead remembered Erik. She recalled in flashes, in fragments, in color that was too bright to bear.

Images - of the dressing-room mirror, of a retreating shadow, of a single rose, of all her years at the opera house - appeared before her eyes.

And worse than that, worse than seeing things that reminded her of Erik, was seeing Erik himself.

She saw him as she did the first time he had appeared to her; she saw him with his lasso, preparing to launch it at Raoul. She saw him in his Red Death costume, moving towards her in Don Juan. And always, she saw his yellow eyes, watching her closely with expressions that were unreadable and that contained unfathomable feelings.

But perhaps what was the most horrible, was reliving the last time she had been in his home. Christine once more saw the way Erik's eyes had been both damning and loving at the same time, something she had tried so hard to forget since then. And she watched, as though she was there once again, the final words spoken between them.

_Christine, I love you._

The words echoed in the dream, and then, just like that, she was awake once more. Christine sat up in the bed, her breaths coming in small gasps that made her cracked ribs ache. She tried to calm herself quickly, but she kept hearing Erik's words over and over again.

_It's not enough for him to haunt me in my dreams, is it? I have to hear him when I'm awake, too, I suppose._

Christine smiled slightly at her bad luck, her breaths still coming too rapidly to be comfortable. She was contemplating what she could do – try to fall back asleep, or try to get out of the room – when she felt her breath catch in her throat. She began coughing in painful spasms that wracked her body and jostled her injuries.

When the coughing fit didn't subside, Christine couldn't help but begin to panic. She knew she needed to relax, but she was unable to draw a breath, and the pain was escalating from annoying to agonizing.

Before she had much time to figure out what to do, the door to her room opened, and Erik appeared. Without a word, he strode briskly to her bedside and put a hand on her back. And in a soft tone, reminiscent of the one he had used after her father had died, he murmured for her to be calm. Had she not been so concerned with getting oxygen, Christine might have better appreciated the uncharacteristic tenderness she was being shown.

All the same, his presence gave Christine the chance to finally catch her breath. The coughing resided, and she finally gulped in a swallow of much needed air.

"Better, Madame de Chagny?" Erik asked, moving his hand from her back and stepping away from the bed.

_Back to Madame, are we?_

_ Christine nodded, wishing she could reply, I'm quite f__ine, Monsieur Fantôme, and yourself? _without fear of coughing once more.

Erik stayed by the bed a few more seconds, seeming to want verbal confirmation that she was, in fact, actually better.

Christine's throat was horribly sore, and she continued to draw in each breath with a little hesitation, still afraid she would launch into a coughing fit once more. Finally, daring to talk, Christine tried to ask Erik what the time was, unwilling and a bit afraid to reply with the sarcastic answer she had planned.

What she did say, however, came out in an unintelligible rasp. The words jumbled together in her throat, and spilled out incoherently. Smiling self-deprecatingly and clearing her throat, she repeated the question. "Erik, do you know the time?"

"It's almost dawn," he said.

"Oh," Christine replied. They would leave soon, then. There was a pause, and she added, braving a small laugh, "I sound a bit like la Carlotta. This wouldn't be your doing, would it?"

Though he neither laughed nor smiled, Erik did turn his yellow eyes to Christine, who imagined they were a bit less angry than they had been.

_That's something, I suppose. _

"Fortunately for you, I'm not quite as well-versed in opera-house tricks as I once was," Erik said. "Rest assured, Madame de Chagny, that your injuries and discomfort all stem from your attack." Another small pause fell between them before Erik continued, "Although, perhaps that isn't much of a reassurance, after all."

"Perhaps not," Christine said, becoming fully aware that all the kindness he had shown moments before was not to be spoken of.

"Well," Erik began, moving another few steps from her bed, "if you can manage, you need to be returning to your home shortly."

Christine nodded. "I should be all right."

In a brisk tone, Erik added, "Be ready to leave in ten minutes," and walked out of the room.

Christine remained motionless for a few moments, staring after him. His leaving the room in a less than pleasant temper was becoming another unfortunate reoccurrence.

Sighing softly, Christine moved out of the bed.

As she set her feet on the floor and took a step, Christine realized how stiff and weak she still was. She also found that she could barely walk with the pain from the cracked ribs.

_Ten minutes? Ten days would be a bit more reasonable. Was Erik serious about this?_

Groaning as a shooting pain coursed through her stomach, Christine sat back down on the bed. Perhaps getting back to the de Chagny estate wouldn't be quite as easy as she'd imagined.

As she thought of what she would say to Erik when he remembered that her pain tolerance wasn't _quite_ what his was, Christine resolved to talk with him, _actually_ talk with him - damn the consequences.

After all, if she didn't, she'd only be damning her heart.

* * *

**A/N2**: A bit short (way short, really), and I'm not terribly fond of it, but I hope you all enjoyed it (if anyone's still reading). Don't forget to drop me a review. :) Oh, and I'm hopefully going to update This Year's Love soon. And in unrelated good news, I get to see Phantom on Broadway soon! I'm so excited! dies


	6. To Know Love

A/N: I was going to update This Year's Love, but this chapter just wanted to be written. It's an Erik POV, with a Christine memory. It's long (for me, at least), and I'm actually very happy with it. Hope you enjoy, and don't forget to review!

--

_If I know what love is, it is because of you.  
- Herman Hesse_

--

The time passed slowly as Erik waited for Christine to ready herself to leave. He sat, unmoving, in a hard-backed chair, trying to keep his mind from wandering. There was so much to think on, so much which had been left unsaid while Christine was here, that he didn't want to start.

_What had happened to de Chagny? Who was this man who had nearly killed Christine?_

The questions filled his head unbidden and Erik promptly dismissed them. He would not – _could not_ – begin thinking of these things now. He only needed to return Christine home and be done with her. She no longer lived at the opera house; he had saved her once, and it no longer fell to Erik to look out for Christine's best interests.

With a nearly inaudible sigh, Erik stood up suddenly from his chair; it had been ten minutes, so where was Christine? He glanced at the door to her room, but it remained firmly shut. Listening intently, he could hear nothing that indicated that she was preparing to leave. No footsteps, no shuffling, no anything.

Did Christine have to take forever? Didn't she know that the longer she stayed here, the harder it would become for him to let her leave?

He took a step towards her door before pausing a moment longer. He stood waiting for another minute, giving her just a little more time before he finally spoke. "Madame de Chagny," he called. "Are you planning to spend another day here? Perhaps I should have been a bit clearer when I said we were leaving." He paused, but there was no reply. A little louder, he continued, "We are going _now_, and that is not a matter for discussion."

When, again, there was no reply, Erik became both annoyed and concerned at the same time. Wondering what Christine was doing, he opened the door and stepped inside the room.

Christine was sitting up, perched on the end of the bed. Her eyes were shut tightly, her mouth a thin line, and, Erik noticed, one of her hands was balled tightly at her side.

"Erik?" Christine said, opening her eyes and turning to face him. "Erik, I don't think I can walk."

"Then it's an excellent thing that we aren't walking," he replied, stepping more completely into the room. "There's a carriage waiting on the street to take you back."

"Oh," was the strained reply. Christine's eyes closed again, and a second passed before she added, "But Erik, I don't think I can walk to the carriage." Her hand moved to rest lightly on her stomach.

He frowned slightly; he had imagined she would be able to walk the short distance to the street, despite the cracked ribs. It would be painful, he knew, but not impossible. Perhaps he had overestimated her pain tolerance, or underestimated her injuries. Either was possible, although he hoped it was the first.

"If you don't mind," Erik began, "I can carry you to the street. It might jostle your ribs, but I'm sure it's preferable to staying here."

Christine nodded her permission.

Erik stepped toward the bed and paused only for a moment before picking Christine up carefully. She exhaled sharply in pain, but said nothing. She was feather-light, small and delicate, and Erik carried her easily – and slowly – through the opera house's tunnels to the street. They said nothing during this time – Christine was struggling to ignore the pain, and Erik was struggling with the fact that he was holding Christine in his arms.

_She chose de Chagny_, Erik reminded himself, and not for the first time. _She left you._

When they reached the streets, it was barely after dawn. The sun was inching higher, its light casting small rays over the buildings nearby. As promised, there was a carriage waiting on the street corner, the driver perched motionless on his seat. Erik had told him nothing about who he was, only that he would be paying him a large sum of money to drive a battered Madame de Chagny to her estate.

"Erik," Christine said suddenly, breaking the silence that had felt more than slightly oppressive to him. "Are you not coming with me?"

"No, I'm not going," he replied. "And I need to set you down now; I'll help you walk to the carriage, but it will look strange if I'm carrying you in the street."

"Could you?" Christine asked, wincing as her feet hit the ground. She immediately leaned into Erik, who looped an arm around her waist to hold her upright.

"Could I what?"

"Come with me. I don't want to go home by myself." Christine's face had paled with the effort it was taking for her to walk to the carriage.

"Surely you're old enough to handle that on your own," Erik said. "A Vicomtess would undoubtedly have more difficult things to take care of."

They had reached the carriage.

A single word, pleading. "Please?"

This woman would be the death of him yet.

Erik nodded once, scowling, and opened the door to the carriage and helped Christine inside. He murmured a few choice words of reminder to the driver – not a word about his appearance, not a word about the state of the female passenger – lest a certain lasso find its way around his neck.

After this, he climbed into the carriage next to Christine, careful to seat himself a safe distance away. The carriage began moving, and Erik noticed every time they were jostled, Christine winced. The time passed in silence, however, leaving Erik to begin thinking of de Chagny, once again. How had he died? Did his death have something to do with Christine's attack?

He had to know – it may have been inconsiderate to ask, but his curiosity was overpowering his sense of decorum. "Christine, what happened to de Chagny?"

He would not have thought it possible, but Christine grew even whiter. Deathly pale was the phrase that came to mind.

She fidgeted for a few moments, and had there not been a brace on her wrist, Erik thought she would have been wringing her hands.

"He- he was…" She trailed off, and didn't continue right away. Christine looked out the window for a long second before turning her head to look at Erik. "Why does it matter?"

_Because I'm in love with you, damn it. _

"I'm merely curious, Madame," Erik replied tightly. "And if there is a hint of foul play, it might alert us as to whom your attacker was."

"Raoul had gone out for the evening with a few friends," Christine began shakily. "I had already gone to bed by the time he returned. There was a lot of shouting and commotion from the downstairs entrance hall, and I remember being very confused. I called for a servant, dressed, and wanted to go down to see what had happened…"

"_Madame de Chagny," Aimee, her servant, said in a small voice, "I do not think it is a scene you wish to see downstairs."_

_Christine blanched. "Why? What's happening?" She was unable to keep the tremor from her voice._

"_The Vicomte returned in… rather a state," Aimee replied, "A doctor has been sent for; there is nothing for you to do other than fret if you go see him."_

"_Raoul is my husband," Christine said. "I have a right to see him." Without waiting for a reply, she left her bedroom and hurried toward the stairs. As she went down, taking the steps two at a time, she could hear snatches of the conversation taking place downstairs._

"_So much blood…"_

"_Will the doctor make it in time?"_

"_Why would anyone do this to him?"_

_Their frantic voices made Christine move more quickly, and within seconds, she found a group of servants huddled in the corner of the parlor. Across the room, there was a sheet covering the sofa and a body lying across it - Raoul. Christine bit back a scream, and crossed the room to his side. It was hard to ignore the fact that her husband was unconscious and that he was bleeding profusely. There were crimson stains blossoming on his shirt and covering the sheet. _

"_What – what happened?" she choked out, turning on her heel to face the men crowded in the corner._

_Charles Mercier and Alexandre Roux stepped forward. The first was the man who had driven Raoul's carriage that evening, and the other Christine recognized as a high-society friend. It was Mercier who spoke first._

"_Ah, Madame de Chagny," he said solemnly. "I'm sorry to have alarmed you, but the Vicomte was injured while he was out tonight."_

"_I can see that," Christine snapped. "But that doesn't answer my question."_

_This time Roux responded, looking slightly hesitant after Christine's waspish reply to Mercier. "We had just finished dining at the restaurant, and were making our way back to our carriages, when we heard gunfire. It was surprising – I'm sure you can guess we were in one of the nicest parts of town. We thought everything was all right, until we heard Raoul cry for our help."_

_Mercier cut in. "I heard the gunfire and came to help. Together, Monsieur Roux and I carried the Vicomte to his carriage, and we brought him straight here."_

_Christine felt as though she might be sick. It took a moment before she trusted her voice enough to speak. "Who was it that shot him? And why did you take him here instead of to the doctor?"_

"_We never saw anyone with the gun," Roux said. "And the estate was closer than the doctor, so we returned here first. A servant was sent for Doctor Blanc as soon as we returned."_

_Christine merely nodded; none of it matter much at the moment anyway. Raoul was unconscious and losing blood quickly. She said nothing more to the two men, and instead began a vigil at her husband's side. There was nothing to do but wipe his face, and murmur soft words to him. He never regained consciousness, and Christine had never felt so useless in her life. _

_The doctor came soon, and moved Christine to the side, telling her to wait in another room while he worked. She said goodbye to Raoul, said she loved him, knowing well it could be the last time she saw him._

_Ten minutes, an hour, or a day passed while Christine waited for the news – she lost all notion of time in her worry. When Blanc finally came to find her, she already knew what he would say. The look in his eyes was all she needed to see to know that Raoul was dead._

_She immediately began to sway on the spot, and everything around her began to spin._

"_Madame de Chagny, are you feeling well?" Blanc asked._

Of course not, you fool, my husband has just been murdered, _Christine wanted to reply – her last conscious thought before she felt her legs crumple beneath her. _

"When I woke up, they had already moved Raoul's body," Christine said softly, tears streaming soundlessly down her face. "We never learned who was responsible."

She stopped talking, and a heavy silence fell between them. Erik was unsure of what to say, of what to do. He hadn't imagined the Vicomte's death being so violent, or so sinister. After a few more moments were passed without speaking, Erik finally broke the silence.

"This changes everything in regard to your attack," he said. "You should have told me earlier."

"Forgive me for wanting to avoid having to relive the experience," Christine replied. He looked at her as she said this – the tears were gone, and in their place was a hard look he had never see in her eyes before.

"Forgive _me, _Madame, for being _so _thoughtless for thinking of your safety before your sadness over losing your loving husband." He said this acidly, knowing full well that Christine didn't deserve his cruelty.

"I didn't see why it mattered," Christine said finally. "If Raoul was dead, what could any of his 'enemies,' as you put it, want with me?"

"You foolish girl," Erik muttered, fighting back the urge to scoff. She had lost her husband, and with it, some of her damned notions of happiness. But apparently, her naïveté had remained. "Anyone who despised Raoul enough to _murder _him, would undoubtedly have no qualms over killing his wife. Perhaps he believed you knew he was responsible for kill the Vicomte."

"Oh," was the only reply Christine managed. Erik noticed that while she was still no longer crying, the hard look in her eyes had softened to one of sorrow.

Not for the first time, Erik wanted to say something – anything – to make her feel better. While part of him couldn't help but rejoice that de Chagny had died, he felt that if it had spared Christine the pain, Erik would have rather had him live.

He was spared the chance to find comforting words by the driver's sudden stop. They had reached the estate.

"Do you have a way to let yourself in?" Erik asked, turning to face Christine. The change in subject was abrupt, but he knew she needed to return home as quickly as possible – not spend time discussing the events of her husband's murder.

Christine shook her head. "I left through the back door and kept it unlocked so I could return that way. The servants will have checked it by now, though; we'll have to use the front door."

Erik bit back an acidic reply, reminding himself that he had used enough barbs for today. Instead he allowed himself a small scoff at Christine's lack of foresight before helping her out of the carriage. Without speaking, he carried her up the front walk.

When they reached the door, Erik set Christine down gently so she was standing, although he was still supporting all of her weight. He knocked on the door loudly. It took a few moments, but someone opened the door soon enough.

As soon as the maid appeared in the doorway, Erik began talking. "Before you start staring, stop, and go get someone who can help the Vicomtess inside."

If the mask hadn't convinced the young woman to listen to Erik, the tone in his voice left no question. She hurried back through the door, calling for someone to come quickly.

He took this as his cue to leave Christine and return home. "Take care not to find yourself in the company of men who wish you harm," Erik said. The irony that some would consider her currently in the presence of such a man did not escape his notice.

"I will." She smiled slightly, sadly.

"You're going to have to lean against the doorframe so I can leave without anyone else noticing me," Erik said. When Christine agreed, he helped her move towards the door. She leaned against it, her jaw set.

"Goodbye, Erik," Christine murmured finally, her voice soft.

He nodded once, unsure of what he would say if he opened his mouth. A pause, then he said, "Goodbye," before he turned around. Erik walked briskly down the path to the carriage, and heard Christine say something to the coming help. Then, there was a small gasp of pain and the click of the door shutting. He fought the urge to glance back, wanting to see if he would find her watching from the front window. Instead he closed his eyes briefly, and the climbed back into the waiting carriage. The driver took off at once, and Erik decidedly kept his eyes down.

As the carriage jostled slightly, he let his thoughts drift. She had left him once, alone and broken, only to find her way back to him. And now, now he had let her do it another time. Erik wondered if he would see Christine again, and wondered whether – despite how much he wanted to – if it would be a good thing if he did.

He suspected it wouldn't, but that thought didn't keep him from hoping he'd see her again anyway.

--

A/N2: In the next chapter, Christine is all alone in the estate wondering if she'll ever see Erik again. And who is the mysterious villain? Don't forget to review. Oh, and I saw Phantom on Broadway and it was so much more amazing than I had dared to imagine. John Cudia was simply amazing!


	7. Security

**A/N**: Hi, all. Nothing much to say besides apologizing for my slow updating. Hope you enjoy the chapter!

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As the door clicked shut behind her, Christine was launched into a world of worried muttering and concerned clamoring over her state. It seemed half the household had been in the entry hall when she had arrived, which was a rather unfortunate coincidence considering both the earliness of the hour and her ragged appearance.

Christine was barely being held upright by the tiny servant girl who had answered the door, and it was all she could do to keep herself from toppling over. All of the questions being thrown at her were doing nothing more than causing her much annoyance. What she really wanted was to go to her room and sleep away the memories of Erik and her attack. Was that so much to ask?

"Madame," she heard one voice call, "wherever have you been?"

Another rose above the fray. "You've given us such a fright. Are you badly hurt?"

Aimée, the servant who had been with her the night of Raoul's death, spoke next, her usually quiet voice managing to ring over the rest. "Please, everyone, we should allow Madame de Chagny her privacy." She moved toward Christine's side. "The more important issues are to get her a doctor and to her quarters."

An instant rush of gratitude flooded Christine, and she smiled at Aimée as she felt arms support her from both sides. A sigh of relief followed the thankfulness, as it was much easy to stand when more than one person was helping her. Slowly, and with much difficulty, she was carried up the stairs and brought to her room. Aimée helped her into something she could sleep in, and then Christine was allowed to lie back on her bed.

Finally left alone, her mind flickered to Erik, to what had happened while she had been in his care. If it weren't for him, she would have been killed in that alley. She was grateful to him for that, but also… there was a part of her that thought it might have been easier had she died. Now, Christine was faced with the resurfacing of dangerous feelings, as well as the appearance of an enemy she had been unaware existed.

She sighed softly, and a wave of fatigue washed over her. Immediately, all thoughts of her attack, her rescue, and the events after vanished, replaced by a desire to do nothing more than sleep. And with a last flash of being carried in Erik's arms, Christine drifted off to a deep, dreamless sleep.

---

A week passed, and then another, both in much the same way. When she had first woken up, Christine had been bombarded with questions and thinly veiled accusations. A doctor – Raoul's Monsieur Blanc, ironically enough – had come by, bringing with him the same diagnosis Erik had given her. After it had been ascertained that she wouldn't die, the gossip had started. Christine had finally told everyone she had been attacked on her way to the chapel, and then helped by a kind passerby unwilling to accept any sort of recognition for their troubles. Christine was sure none of the estate's staff _actually _believed that story, but it was enough to keep them from pressing her. If they wanted to gossip about what had really happened, at this point, she didn't care too much, as long as they didn't do it in front of her.

As for the rest of society, well, after Raoul's death she had stopped caring much about them as well. In any case, she had never wanted this life on a pedestal. Perhaps it were better for everyone if they believed her slightly unhinged – or even loose – after her husband's death.

In any case, the stabbing pains in Christine's ribs were slowly subsiding, although she suspected she would not be completely better until a few more weeks had come and gone. Her wrist still twinged when she moved too much, but for the most part, her scrapes and bruises had healed.

Christine had spent much of those fourteen days resting, sometimes downstairs in the parlor, and other times in her room. Much of the time, she had been alone, which had made for a nice change after the near suffocation after Raoul's death.

Currently, she was in her bedroom, sitting on the settee by the window. She watched the people walking the streets below with interest, and wondered what their stories were – where they were going to or what they were running from.

Christine was so lost in her daydreaming, that when the door to her room opened, she started in surprise.

She turned to see who had stepped inside, immediately thinking of Erik, and then berated herself for imagining something so absurd. It had been two weeks since she had seen or heard from him; of course he wouldn't come barging into her bedroom. He had been clear that it was for the best they no longer see each other, and Christine knew she should accept that was what would happen.

Instead, she had found Aimée waiting by the doorway. "There is a Monsieur Alexandre Roux requesting to see you, Madame," Aimée said. "If you feel able, of course. It would be no trouble to send him away."

Despite the irrationality of it, Christine still felt a rush of disappointment wash over her as she heard who was waiting to see her. But at the same time, a spark of curiosity flared in her. Roux had been with Raoul on the night he died; perhaps he had some information about that evening.

"It's all right, Aimée," Christine said. "I can manage to go downstairs for a few moments." She moved her legs gingerly over the side of the settee and walked slowly towards the door.

With the help of Aimée, Christine was able to descend the staircase. She paused outside the sitting room to tuck away an errant curl, and then took a brief moment to straighten her dress. Although on the night of her attack she had traded her mourning clothes for another so as to avoid recognition, Christine had returned to her black dresses. The one she was wearing now was loose-fitting, which made breathing in her condition a much more pleasant experience, and while perhaps not the most presentable, Christine thought Monsieur Roux would have to accept her appearance all the same.

Bracing herself for whatever was to come, Christine stepped inside the sitting room. Roux was seated on the sofa, but stood immediately as she entered the room. She had remembered he was tall, but she had forgotten how striking he was. With dark hair and light blue eyes, Christine was quickly remembering why all the ladies at Raoul's dinner parties had eyed Roux with particular interest.

"Madame de Chagny," he said, his voice filling the quiet room.

"Monsieur Roux," she replied. "How may I help you?" Christine took a few steps forward, and balanced herself on the edge of the armchair next to the sofa where Roux had resumed sitting.

"I received word you were unwell, Madame, and wanted to ask after you," Roux said. "I am glad to see you moving about. Are you better, then?"

_Unwell – there's a polite way to put it. _"I'm healing," Christine said shortly. "Thank you for asking."

"Think nothing of it; as one of the Vicomte's dearest friends, I feel it is my duty to check on your well-being."

"I am sure my husband would appreciate your thoughtfulness," Christine said, allowing a thin smile. _And I would appreciate you leaving my house_, she added silently. "I had thought that, perhaps, you had information of his death." The words came out slightly strangled, but she was glad she had asked all the same.

Roux's face fell. "Unfortunately, I do not. It seems there is a dead-end as far as suspects are concerned, but if I hear anything, I will most certainly let you know." He smiled. "And I assure you, should you ever need anything, I would be more than happy to assist you in whatever way I can. Never hesitate to ask."

Her spirits fell at once; Christine had been hoping to hear that Roux had at least _something _new to tell her. Instead, he was merely offering help. She fought to keep back the bitter tears threatening to fall.

"Then I must thank you again for your kindness," Christine said. She paused, wondering whether it would be too impolite to ask Roux to leave. She wavered for a moment, before deciding her "delicate health" could be of some use. "Monsieur Roux, I do hope you won't think me rude, but I am feeling a bit tired at the moment. Mention of my husband's death, I'm sure, has done nothing to help. If you care to speak again tomorrow, I would be happy to oblige."

"Oh no, my dear," Roux said at once. "Please forgive me for keeping you. I meant only to offer my well wishes and assistance."

"Thank you for that, as well as for understanding." Christine stood and took a step towards him, intending to show him to the door.

"No, no, don't trouble yourself. I'll be happy to show myself out," Roux said.

"Very well, Monsieur," Christine replied, remaining where she was. She watched the man walk across the room carefully, breathing a small sigh of relief when he opened the door.

He paused, though, and turned back to face her. "And Christine," Roux called, "do remember to be careful." He nodded to her once and then briskly left the house.

Christine stared after him, bristling slightly at his use of her first name. Yes, they had been acquaintances for some time, but she felt he was perhaps assuming a level of familiarity she was uncomfortable with. But before she could dwell on it, Aimée appeared at her side.

"Would you like assistance back to your room, Madame?" she asked. "Supper won't be ready for another hour or so."

"That would be fine, thank you," Christine said quietly, allowing herself to be led towards the stairs.

Aimée left Christine alone at the door to her room and then scurried away to take care of some chore or other, cooking, perhaps. Happy for the privacy, Christine stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

A million thoughts were blazing their way through her mind, and Christine was unsure of what to think of her meeting with Roux. She was sure he meant well, but had his last words been a friendly warning or something more… sinister? She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. No, this man was someone her husband had trusted; he had been the one to bring Raoul home that night. Of course he was just reminding her to be cautious. She sighed, exhaustion hitting her hard. Maybe a nap before supper would do her good.

Christine had nearly reached her bed when she felt her skin prickle. Immediately, she froze. Was someone in the room with her?

"Perhaps some better security is in order, Christine," called a voice from behind her. "A _child _would be able to enter your home with little difficulty. I was hoping for more of a challenge, if I'm being quite honest."

---

**A/N2**: Don't forget to review! It makes me update faster. :)


	8. To Be Naïve

**A/N**: Told you the reviews would make me update faster. ;) It's a little short, but you can expect another chapter (hopefully) very soon. Enjoy!

---

_It is well for the heart to be naïve and for the mind not to be.  
- Anatole France _

_---_

"_Perhaps some better security is in order, Christine," called a voice from behind her. "A __child __would be able to enter your home with little difficulty. I was hoping for more of a challenge, if I'm being quite honest."_

Christine nearly let out a sigh of relief at the sound of the voice. She had been frozen to the spot, terror coursing through her, thinking her attacker had found her. But instead, this was someone entirely different. And, to be quite honest, someone much more welcome. She took and deep breath and then turned around to face the person behind her.

"Hello, Erik," she said, finding two yellow eyes watching her closely. He was leaning casually against the door she had just shut – where he had been before, however, she wasn't sure. "Is there something I can help you with? It's a bit late for a chat."

"I saw Roux came to pay you a visit." Erik took a step further into the room, closing the gap between them. "I wouldn't recommend accepting his offer of assistance whenever you may need it." His voice was guarded, but Christine thought something had flashed in his eyes for a brief moment.

"And how would you know about all of that?" Christine asked, confused. "Are you – Erik, are you having me watched?"

"I wouldn't trust him," he said, avoiding the second question with ease. "I know he was de Chagny's friend, but I have heard... rumors."

"Rumors?" Christine repeated. "What sort of things? And how?" She frowned and sat down on the edge of the settee, pulling nervously on a curl as she waited for Erik to continue.

"As a former Opera Ghost," Erik began, "I have a bit of practice at being invisible. You would be shocked, Christine, at the things people will divulge when they believe there is no one around to listen."

"What have you heard, then?" Christine asked. She tried to think if she had heard any scandal surrounding Roux, but she could come up with nothing that would qualify as gossip.

"I doubt much of it will surprise you, to be perfectly honest. I'm sure you have noticed," he said, his voice taking on a sardonic tone, "that Roux is quite handsome by society's standards." Christine nodded once but said nothing. "Well, I have heard that our dear friend has no qualms over _consorting_ with women who are not his wife. It is kept quiet, of course, and I'm sure there is money changing hands somewhere. But I have heard whispers from upstanding citizens when they believe they are alone."

"Erik, but surely you can't be implying that he…" Christine stopped, looking slightly horrified. "No, _no_. I have noticed, of course, the glances he receives from the women at the dinner parties, but his adores his wife Margot. He's attentive and kind, and I've never heard him speak harshly to –"

Erik's scoff promptly cut her off. "I am most certainly implying that, Christine, and it would do you well to stop believing the best in people."

Christine pursed her lips, biting back a sigh, and considered her words for a moment. She had thought Roux was happy with Margot, a beautiful woman by all accounts, and a pleasant one, too. After a few seconds, she said, "But even if what you're saying is true, it only proves he is unfaithful, not that he is involved in anything more _evil _than that. We can't condemn him for only what you've heard."

"I only mentioned it because I thought it relevant that Roux would see no wrong in taking you for himself," Erik said. "He is not one to put much stock in morals. Believe me," he added after a moment, "I know a man like that when I see one."

At these words, a silence fell between them, and Christine wondered how to continue. She knew Erik couldn't stay much longer, not if she wanted to avoid awkward questions from the servants. She was saved the trouble of figuring this out, however, when Erik spoke.

"I'll leave shortly after this, Christine, don't worry," he said, "but before I do, I wanted to warn you to watch out for Blanc as well."

"Blanc? The _doctor_?" Christine asked, shocked. "Monsieur Blanc has been nothing but helpful. He helped me after the att – after I came back, and he helped Raoul that night. I can't believe he would have any sort of ulterior motives..." Erik said nothing, but his eyes were burning into hers intently. "Why? Erik, do you know something?"

"I wish I did. This is simply a hunch," he said. "It is perhaps nothing at all, but all the same, I'll ask that you keep someone you trust with you should you speak with him again."

After this, the silence returned, floating between them like mist. Erik, who had remained safely across the room when Christine had sat down on the settee, took a few steps towards her. He was now standing within arm's reach, something that Christine was acutely aware of.

Erik stood still for a moment, his searing gaze causing a shiver to rush through her. "Christine, I –"

"Madame?" From outside the room, Aimée's voice cut across Erik's words, freezing both he and Christine in their places. "Are you well? I thought I heard voices…"

"No, Aimée," Christine called back shakily. She glanced at Erik, who nodded once to tell her to continue, and then stood from the settee and moved towards the door in order to be heard. "I was merely talking to myself; I sometimes think better when I speak aloud."

There was a short pause, as though Aimée was considering Christine's answer, before she said, "All right, then. Supper is ready, if you are feeling up to it."

"Actually, I'm a bit tired," Christine said. "I think I'll just go to bed for the night. I'll call for you if there is anything I need."

If Aimée thought the request strange, she didn't push the issue farther, and instead bade Christine goodnight. Her footsteps could be heard pattering lightly across the floor as she moved towards the staircase.

"I should be going," Erik said as soon as it was safe. "I'll be back soon enough to check on you, and in the mean time, I'll see if I can learn anything more about Blanc and Roux. Perhaps I know someone who can be of help..."

Christine nodded, still a bit startled by Aimée's intrusion. "Thank you, Erik," she said finally. "For all of this. I know I don't deserve it, not after… after everything."

He nodded once, looking for a moment as though he wanted to say something more; instead, Erik took a step toward the window above the settee she had just vacated. With an almost inhuman grace, he reached across and unlatched it.

_The_ _window_, Christine thought with a small smile. _That was how he had gotten in_. This floor was high up, but not so tall that Christine was surprised in the least that Erik had been able to climb to it. Her bedroom window was also in a position that, while it made it possible for her to see the street, kept it hidden from the view of passers-by below. Dressed in black, he would have blended in seamlessly with the dark sky, completely unnoticeable.

Erik had already swung his legs through the frame when he paused and looked back at her. "And Christine," he said, smirking, "do remember to be careful."

And with a taunting use of Roux's words, he disappeared from her sight. Christine stood where she was for a moment longer, before thoughts began to flood her mind. _I should have told him this before… What if it's important? I shouldn't keep it from him; he'll be angry if I do._

She made her decision with surprising ease. Taking a breath, she moved towards the window. "Erik, wait!" she called, leaning precariously out of the frame. "Will you come back for a moment?"

She saw him sigh visibly, and then watched on as he swung himself back into a position to return to the window ledge. His yellow eyes were narrowed and he was agitated when he reached her room once more.

"You called, Madame de Chagny?" Erik asked sardonically.

"There's something I should tell you," Christine said, resisting the urge to add an acerbic _Monsieur Fantôme_ to the end of the sentence. "Or perhaps it would be better if I simply showed you."

He considered her for a moment, perhaps debating whether her offer was worth it.

"Very well," Erik said finally. He waited for her to take a step back, and then pulled himself through the window. "After you."

---

**A/N2**: Coming up: Christine has a secret, Erik has some issues to deal with, and there's definitely something dangerous in the air! Don't forget to drop me a review. :)


	9. Look After You

**A/N**: Sorry for the long time between updates (I'm forever apologizing for this, it seems). Anyway, in case you've forgotten, Christine is calling Erik back inside to show him some sort of secret. Hope you like this chapter (title from The Fray's song), and don't forget to review!

--

_All of this around us'll fall over  
I tell you what we're gonna do  
You will shelter me, my love  
And I will shelter you_

- Shelter, Ray LaMontagne

--

"_Very well," Erik said finally. He waited for her to take a step back, and then pulled himself through the window. "After you."_

As Christine walked across the room, Erik took care to follow her silently. He could only imagine the prying questions that would come their way if anyone were to catch them. Christine, it appeared, was thinking the same thing, as she inched the door open carefully and peered out into the hallway.

"I don't think anyone is up here," she whispered over her shoulder to him. "If we can get to Raoul's study, we should be safe."

_Raoul's study?_ What could Christine possibly have to show him in there? "Very well," was all he said, though, and walked through the door shortly after she had.

Raoul's study was just down the hallway from the bedroom, and they reached it without any sort of trouble, for which Erik was eternally grateful. Christine opened the door with only a bit of hesitation, and then beckoned him to step inside. The study, to put it frankly, was a mess. Not that it looked as though it had been broken into, but more as though de Chagny, for all of his neat dress, had been terribly unorganized. Books were stacked on the floor, the trash bin was overflowing, and papers were covering every inch of the large desk in the middle of the room.

"Would I be correct in presuming your maid wasn't allowed in this particular room?" Erik asked.

"You would be correct," Christine replied with a small smile.

Erik glanced around once more before deciding it was best to get straight to the point. "What did you want to show me, Christine? Other than your husband's untidiness, of course."

Christine took a rather gasping breath and then fixed her eyes on Erik's. "I found a letter last night. I didn't know of it when I was attacked." She fidgeted for a moment before walking over to the desk and pulling a piece of paper off the top of one of the stacks.

"Was it just sitting there?" Erik asked. He glanced down at the piles and wondered how Christine would have found much of anything in all that mess.

Christine shook her head. "It was in the bottom left drawer. I was going through his things, you see. I'm not good for much at the moment, but I can rummage through things all right. I set it out so I could find it more easily if I needed to see it again."

Erik watched as Christine passed the piece of paper back and forth between her hands. She looked pale and drawn, as if simply standing was too tasking for her. She may have thought she was well enough to go through her dead husband's things, but Erik, for one, disagreed.

"Here," Christine said finally, holding the letter out to him.

Erik took the piece of paper and unfolded it, wondering what on earth it would say. It was written in impossibly neat script, with neither a scratch out nor an inkblot in sight. He skimmed it quickly, not needing to read more than a few sentences before he had a general idea of what this would mean for Christine's safety.

_Monsieur de Chagny,_

_You, I'm sure, are well aware of who I am, so I won't give my name and risk my anonymity to anyone else who might find this letter. _

_Now, having said that, I will get straight to the point and waste your time no longer. I know you believe you have uncovered something noteworthy and have plans to take it to the authorities, but let me assure you, it would be in your best interests to completely disregard what you may or may not have found. And, of course, by you, I mean your beautiful wife. I dare say I'm not assuming too much by saying you would be absolutely devastated to come home one night to a lifeless Christine. _

_Consider this your first and only warning. Should the need for another _reminder _arise, a paper cut from a letter would be the least of your worries._

_Warm regards. _

When he finished, Erik calmly folded the paper back in half. He sighed once and then looked up at Christine. "You do know what this means, don't you?" He couldn't keep all the incredulity from his voice, although he did manage to temper his reaction as best he could. He supposed letting Christine know how worried this made him was probably not what she needed at the moment.

She nodded, wide-eyed, looking very much like the girl he remembered from the opera house. "I know what it means."

"You should have told me sooner." Erik tossed the letter back onto the desk and sighed. "This means you're in more danger than I had originally thought."

"I only found out yesterday," Christine said softly.

"But you almost let me leave without saying anything today," Erik replied pointedly.

"I know, but I just – I didn't want to…"

"Didn't want to what?" Erik asked, his voice rising. "Didn't want to save your life? Didn't want to tell me about a letter from the person who is quite clearly behind your husband's death and your attack?"

Christine ran a trembling hand through her hair. "Please, Erik, don't yell at me."

"For God's sake, Christine, my yelling at you should be the least of your worries at present," he spat. Erik fought the urge to break the nearest object in sight. He was made at Christine, not really; it was more mad at the fact that all of this was happening to her. Who was she to deserve something like this?

He glanced over at her and found she looked close to tears. "I didn't want to admit that this is still happening," she managed. "I thought it was over after my attack. Erik, I didn't want to deal with more."

Christine was no longer simply _close _to tears now, and Erik found that watching her cry calmed his anger all too quickly. She really would be the death of him.

"Mon Dieu," he muttered. He said nothing else for a few moments and simply watched Christine. Finally, in as level of a voice as he could managed, he said, "I understand, Christine; it doesn't matter that you waited a few hours to tell me."

"I'm sorry," she said weakly. "I've just been so scared, and I've been trying not to think of it, trying to pretend I could handle this, but then I found this letter, and it made everything worse." She paused. "Erik, I don't think I can do this. I don't think I'm strong enough."

"You are," Erik murmured, wondering for all he was worth how this girl could unhinge him so greatly. "And in any case, I'll keep watch over you. That's a promise, Christine."

Christine opened her mouth to say something, but was cut off by the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs and turning towards the bedroom.

Erik froze and met her eyes at once. The most likely possibility was that it was merely a servant coming to check on Christine, but when they found she wasn't in her room, they would undoubtedly continue looking for her. There wasn't time for him to slip from the study unnoticed, which left the only option of hiding somewhere in the room.

Christine, it appeared, shared his thoughts. She had quickly closed the distance between them and grabbed his arm. "Quickly, over there," she said in a hurried voice. She pointed behind them to a standing mirror in the corner that was tall enough to leave room for Erik to crouch behind. He wouldn't be completely hidden, but it would have to do.

Erik arched an eyebrow and opened his mouth to make a comment about the irony of him hiding behind a mirror.

"Yes, yes, I know," Christine said, casting a nervous glance towards the door. "Just promise me it doesn't secretly open and lead to your second lair or something of the sort." She smiled shakily at him.

He smirked. "An opera ghost never reveals his secrets."

"Just _go_," Christine hissed.

Erik obliged and moved soundlessly across the room. He crouched behind the mirror, hoping whoever had come upstairs would leave quickly. From where he was, he could no longer see Christine, although he could hear her pacing nervously.

_Tap, tap, tap. _"Madame de Chagny? Are you in here?"


	10. Hope It Holds

**A/N**: First, I just wanted to thank everyone who has reviewed so far. Y'all seriously make my day. Well, I'm trying to update a bit more frequently – I hope you like this chapter!

--

_And there is so much we don't know,  
So we love and we hope that it holds.  
- Uncertainty, The Fray_

--

_Tap, tap, tap. "Madame de Chagny? Are you in here?"_

Christine ran a hand through her brown curls and cast a nervous glance at the mirror behind her. She was growing tired of these close calls and wondered why it had to be so difficult to have a few moments without anyone needing to know where she was. She wasn't a child any longer; she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself.

_That's not true, _a small voice inside her head reminded her (it sounded quite a bit like Madame Giry, she noted). _The last time you left the house alone, you ended up nearly dead in an alleyway. _

Christine sighed softly and shook her head. No use thinking about that now, after all. "Yes, I'm in here," she called finally, managing to keep most of her nerves from invading her voice. She took a few steps towards the door and pulled it open. "Was there something you needed?"

Aimée was standing in the doorway, looking slightly nervous. "I'm sorry to bother you, Madame de Chagny, but I heard footsteps coming from the study and I wasn't sure who would be in there." She fidgeted, tugging on her blonde braid. "Are you feeling well? If you don't mind me saying so, you do look a bit pale. Perhaps you should try to get some additional rest."

Christine smiled weakly. "It's been a trying past few weeks, that's all, Aimée. I appreciate your concern, but I'm faring all right."

Aimée nodded. "I understand. Were you looking for something in here? Perhaps I could help you look, if you need the help."

"I'm just going through my husband's old things. Feeling a bit sentimental, I suppose," Christine replied. "Seeing his papers and possessions reminds me of life before… before all of this happened." She had been answering truthfully, and the magnitude of sadness that hit her as she spoke was surprising. Christine had thought her grief over losing Raoul was fading, but perhaps she had merely been pushing it deeper and deeper while dealing with other things. Her eyes prickled traitorously at this thought, so she brushed at them quickly and looked at Aimée. Bravely attempting a smile, she said, "Don't worry about me. I should be out of here and back into my own room in a few minutes."

Aimée considered Christine briefly, nodding after a moment. "Of course. I'm sorry for bothering you, and I do hope you find what you're looking for. I'll leave you to your own devices." With that, the maid turned and made to leave the room. She opened the door and paused, looking back at Christine. "And Madame, don't cause yourself too much trouble with all of this remembering. It's best to try to move on. Your husband would want you be to happy; surely you know that." Aimée smiled softly and then pulled the door shut behind her before Christine could reply.

Christine stared at the closed door for a moment, thinking about what Aimée had said. She was right, of course; there was no point in dwelling on her sadness. She needed to focus on figuring out how Raoul had died and keeping herself safe. Crying over his old things would do no one any good. Perhaps there would be time to truly mourn later, but for now, she needed to move on with her life.

Christine took a deep breath and then turned to face the mirror. "I think it's safe now," she called. She watched, feeling a distinct sense of déjà vu, as Erik appeared from behind the glass.

"For a few minutes, at least," Erik said dryly. "Really, Christine, a bit of privacy would go a long way in this house."

"They're just concerned about me, that's all," Christine answered.

"Or they're suspicious of you and the voices they keep hearing."

"They're _worried about me_." Erik opened his mouth to make another reply, but she continued before he could. "So what do we do now, Erik? I mean, surely I can't continue to stay here unprotected."

"Who said you're unprotected?" Erik arched an eyebrow at her.

She had been suspicious before, but this comment assured Christine that he was indeed having her watched. She was torn between feeling as though her privacy was being invaded and feeling unreasonably comforted by the fact that Erik was keeping her safe.

"Do you have nothing else to do but sit outside my home all day?" Christine asked, not nearly as annoyed as she sounded.

"Nothing else nearly as exciting," Erik replied wryly.

"Well, have you figured anything out?

"Something still sits ill with me about Roux and Blanc."

"Something you've seen?"

Erik shook his head. "No, it's a feeling."

Christine sighed. "I suppose next you're going to suggest Charles Mercier is involved somehow. Never mind that he was Raoul's driver for the better part of the last three years."

Erik gave her a pointed look, his yellow eyes narrowing.

"Oh, for God's sake. All three of them are in it together, is that it, Erik?" Christine watched him closely, but he made no response, which served only to make her more irritated. "Should we go so far as to assume that anyone who saw Raoul that night is somehow at fault?" She sighed, frustrated. "Next you're going to suggest that _I_ was somehow involved in Raoul's death."

"It will do you no good to assume to that everyone you know is trustworthy." Erik paused for a moment, then smirked at her. "If you _were _somehow involved in Raoul's death, I'm not sure it would be such an awful thing. You would certainly be in no danger."

Christine blanched. "Erik!"

"My apologies," he said, sounding quite far from sincere. "An ill-placed joke - that's all."

Christine said nothing for a moment. Instead, she turned away from Erik and walked around the room. Despite the mess, there were still so many signs of Raoul visible. A stray paper with his neat cursive on it; a miniature portrait of he and Christine together; pressed flowers from their wedding day sitting on a shelf. It was all a bit much.

With her eyes beginning to twinge again, Christine spotted Raoul's favorite jacket crumpled underneath the desk chair. She took a few steps over to where it was and then picked it up. It still smelled like her husband. Straightening it out, she hung it gently over the back of the chair; then, feeling a bit foolish, she looked back at Erik, whose eyes had never left her.

"The fact remains," Christine began slowly, "that none of them are the man who attacked me. I would have recognized them – I'm sure of it."

"Would you consider the possibility that you've blocked his image from your mind?" Erik asked. "After an attack like that…" He trailed off and watched her closely.

"No, I remember the man, Erik. He had black hair and broad shoulders. He was tall and middle-aged. I don't know anything else, but I can assure you, he wasn't anyone I recognized," Christine finished, her voice quivering slightly.

A moment of silence fell between them, as Erik seemed to be considering whether or not to believe Christine. Finally, he nodded once at her. "We'll still need to go see Blanc. Perhaps he remembers something of importance from that night."

"All right," was Christine's only reply.

"Tomorrow, then," Erik said. "If you cannot manage to get out alone, we can try again another day. If you can get away, meet me two streets over at the bakery."

"I'll do my best to get out," Christine said. She waited a moment and then added, "I think you should probably leave now. It's growing late, and I told Aimée I'd be going back to my room shortly."

"Of course."

The two of them walked back to Christine's room, silently stepping down the hallway and completely avoiding anyone's prying eyes. Without a word, Erik walked to the window and pulled it open. The night breeze tumbled in, immediately cooling the room.

"Goodnight, Erik," Christine said softly, a shiver racing down her spine.

"Goodnight, Christine," he returned. He was through the window when he paused and called back to her. "I won't be far if you need me."

And with that, Erik slipped from Christine's view, leaving her feeling completely alone despite his assurances otherwise.


	11. Searching for Truth

**A/N**: I'm beyond sorry for not updating in forever! I hope you haven't forgotten about the story, and that you like this chapter (it's long!). Don't forget to review. (:

--

Sleep didn't come easily for Christine that night, and she woke the next morning feeling as though she had closed her eyes only moments before. The sun was just rising, the rays beginning to make their way through the window, and the day promised to be a beautiful one. With a wry smile, Christine thought the weather belied the seriousness of what would take place in a short time. She and Erik were to visit Blanc today, the doctor who had treated Raoul the night he had died. It was safe to say she wasn't eager to relive those particular memories.

Beyond that, Christine was still unsure as to how she felt about Erik's implication that Blanc had had something to do with her husband's murder. The man had been nothing but kind to her that night and in the days following her attack. It seemed a bit unfounded to accuse him of plotting an assassination.

With these thoughts blazing through her mind, she moved around the bedroom, getting ready for the day. Once she had dressed, Christine walked as quietly as she could through the house, trying not to alert the servants to the fact that she was awake. Using the front door seemed unwise, so she made her way to the kitchen, where there was a side door that was used very rarely. It led right to the street, which would make it easy to slip away into the crowd, unnoticed by anyone who would think to stop her.

She stole through the many rooms and into the kitchen without being seen, and if she could just get around the corner, then she'd be –

"Madame de Chagny?"

– _free_.

Christine bit back a curse and turned to find Aimée watching her curiously. She was beginning to think her maid was everywhere. With what she hoped was an innocent look, she replied, "Yes?"

"Are you heading out? Should I call for Monsieur Mercier? I know he would be happy to take you somewhere."

Christine thought instantly of Erik's suspicions of Charles Mercier, Raoul's driver who had stayed after her husband's death to serve her. Though she trusted him more than Blanc, she didn't think it would be wise to alert him of what she would be doing today. Just in case.

"I'm heading around the corner to the bakery," Christine began slowly, wondering what exactly she could say without sounding suspicious. "After spending so much time in the house, I thought walking and some fresh air might be nice."

Aimée looked nervous at the mere mention of Christine wandering around the streets of Paris unaccompanied – but it wasn't as though her concern was unfounded, considering what had happened the last time Christine had left the house alone.

"I don't know, Madame," she said softly. "It wouldn't be safe."

"Please, Aimée," Christine said. "It wouldn't be for long. I just need to prove to myself that the att – that what happened won't happen again. I'm afraid if I don't go out alone I won't ever stop being afraid."

The young girl nodded, but still seemed unconvinced. Christine continued, the words coming out quickly. "I've been so scared since then, even when I'm here. I'm afraid in my own home, Aimée – of every creak of the stairs and every shadow in the hall. I can't live like this any longer." Her voice cracked slightly over the last word, the truth behind what she was saying becoming more apparent. "Please, I'll only be gone for an hour. Don't tell anyone else – I'm sure they'll come after me. I have to do this on my own."

Aimée stood watching her for a moment, the anxiety still evident on her face. A few seconds passed before she smiled hesitantly. "Then go quickly, Madame, before someone else hears you. I'll say you're not feeling well and have decided to stay in bed for the morning."

Impulsively, Christine ran toward Aimée and embraced her; it was comforting to know she had someone here who cared for her. Moreover, the hug made her think of Meg Giry, and a rush of nostalgia for the opera house washed over her. "I'll be safe, I swear." And with that, Christine let go of Aimée and hurried through the kitchen door.

Once outside, she smiled, happy she had managed to escape for the morning. The day was as brilliant as the first rays of sun had promised it would be, and she walked quickly toward the bakery where Erik had told her to meet him.

The streets weren't too crowded so early in the day, but enough people were walking that she felt as though there wasn't any imminent danger. Her feelings of safety weren't strong enough, however, to keep her from walking as quickly as she could until she finally reached the bakery – Christine thought she wouldn't feel completely comfortable until she was in Erik's company. She was sure there was a lesson in there somewhere, although she didn't care to imagine what it was.

When she arrived at the bakery, Erik was no where to be found, although she looked everywhere she could think of. She finally walked around to the back of the shop, thinking her might be there. She stood for a few moments, waiting, before she heard him speak.

"You're late."

The voice came from behind her, although Christine was sure she had checked that space moments ago. She smiled slightly before turning around to answer. "I am _not_ late."

She heard him scoff. "I expected you an hour ago." Erik stepped forward from the shadows, mask securely in place. He still hovered close to the wall, though, to keep out of sight from passersby.

Christine scowled. "You never gave me a time – you just said tomorrow morning."

"Had I known you would have taken that to mean now, I would have specified."

"Fine," she said exasperatedly. "I'm late, then."

Christine thought Erik smirked slightly underneath the mask, but she couldn't really be sure. Perhaps it was merely a grimace.

"Let's go, then; Blanc's work is only a few buildings down."

Christine nodded, and he led the way toward the street, away from the back of the bakery.

They walked in silence, with Erik staying under the cover of the shadows as best he could. A few stares came their way, but for the most part, it appeared that Christine was accompanied by an old friend or servant.

When they finally reached the address Erik had acquired, a small sign over the door advertised Blanc's services as a doctor. Christine paused as they came to the walkway, unsure of what to do now that they had arrived.

As though sensing her uncertainty, Erik promptly explained. "You go in first and ask about the night de Chagny was killed. If he doesn't want to appear suspicious, I'm sure he'll answer your questions. Act grief-stricken as best you can – I'm sure it won't be that difficult."

Christine ignored the last comment and instead asked, "What about you? Will you come, too?"

Erik snorted derisively. "A masked man accompanying a young woman? Do you really think that wise, Christine? No, I'll follow once the two of you are talking. You won't see me, so don't bother looking."

She nodded, wondering briefly where he'd be able to hide in the office, but figured it was best not to ask too many questions. With a last deep breath, she looked once at Erik and then took off toward the door. She had barely knocked when it swung open to reveal the man they were looking for.

"Madame de Chagny," the doctor crowed, a broad smile appearing, "what a pleasure to see you! You're looking well; I trust you've been resting, as instructed."

Hugo Blanc was perhaps a few years older than Raoul had been, and much younger than Christine had imagined when she was told a doctor was coming the night her husband died. His hair was a light brown and his brown eyes sparkled when he saw her.

"Of course, Monsieur," she replied. "I'm feeling much better."

"Well, then, how may I assist you today?"

"I'm afraid I have a strange request," Christine began finally. "It's - it's about the night Raoul died."

"Oh, I see," Blanc said. "Well, I'd be happy to help you, Madame, although I'm not sure what use reliving those moments will be."

Christine held similar sentiments, although she figured it'd be best if she kept them to herself for now. After a moment, she said, "I would just like to know exactly what happened; I've been trying to find some… closure, I suppose is the word."

"To be expected, of course. Well, please come back to the office – it's a bit more private."

Christine nodded and followed Blanc away from the entryway. She glanced back as the door closed and hoped Erik would find a way inside. They walked into a small office, and the doctor sat behind a desk and motioned for Christine to sit across from him.

Silence filled the air between them for a few seconds, but the conversation began shortly after, relieving the tension Christine could feel building.

"Let's see, where to start." Blanc muttered to himself for a moment, apparently trying to figure our where the story should begin. "At a quarter to ten, a servant from your home arrived, frantically requesting I follow him to the de Chagny estate. I came at once, of course, and on the way there, I was told that your husband had been injured. A gunshot wound, as you well know."

Christine shivered in spite of herself, but gestured that the doctor continue.

"When I arrived, it was just after ten, and Raoul was already unconscious. There was a large amount of blood, and to be honest, Christine, there wasn't much to be done. I'm afraid he was on borrowed time at that point."

She tensed slightly at the use of her first name, but made no mention of it. Instead she figured it was time to use a bit of Erik's advice; perhaps it would make him more open to sharing. "And there was only the one wound?" she asked, lowering her voice in the hope she would seem the picture of a grieving widow.

"A few scratches and one particularly nasty bruise on his cheek, but nothing else of note," was the reply. "The bullet was what killed him, without a doubt."

Christine felt herself pale, although it wasn't because of any attempt on her part. The more she listened to Blanc talk, the more she began to feel a bit sick to her stomach. Perhaps getting him to be more open was too much for her to hear.

She stayed, though, for a few more minutes, asking various questions about the treatment. Blanc answered her every question, offering up more information than she dreamed (or wished) he would.

"_He would have been in quite some pain before he lost consciousness, I'm afraid…. The servant who came for me said your husband had been just walking to the carriage when it happened…. I've never known a better man that Raoul de Chagny, Christine…."_

Finally, just before she thought it would be best to leave, Christine asked, "Do you remember what time you left the house?"

Blanc shook his head. "I'm afraid I don't, Madame. It was late, I know, but I'm sorry to say I lost track of time at some point during the night."

"Certainly understandable," Christine said. At this point, she was desperate to leave the office; this had all been a bit much to take. "Well, thank you so much, Monsieur." She stood to go and he followed her lead. "I appreciate all you've done for my husband, as well as for me."

"Of course, my dear; I'm just sorry it wasn't enough for Raoul," Blanc replied sadly.

Christine smiled softly in return, before nodding once and turning to leave the office. Blanc led her out of the building and closed the door behind her, and she stepped happily back into the sunshine – glad to be away from such dreary memories.

Christine had just rounded the street corner when Erik fell into step beside her. She hadn't seem him coming, but it wasn't as though she had really expected to.

"Well, I'm not sure what was accomplished by that," she said flatly. In all honesty, she still felt a bit drained from the conversation, and thought it might be a while before she felt any better. "He answered every question I asked. I don't think he's involved – I think he's innocent."

Erik scoffed. "Blanc, innocent?" He shook his head, a look of disgust clouding his features. "Christine, the man was lying to you."


	12. Delicate

**A/N**: I'm sure you all are tired of reading author's notes where I apologize for how long it's been since I've updated. Unfortunately, this is another one of those notes. ;) I truly am sorry for how far apart these chapters have been. I've been swamped with school and other RL obligations. It's summer, though, so hopefully I can finally finish this story! Anyway, I hope you haven't forgotten about this one completely, and don't forget to review! I truly appreciate every little comment!

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_"He answered every question I asked. I don't think he's involved – I think he's innocent."_

_Erik scoffed. "Blanc, innocent?" He shook his head, a look of disgust clouding his features. "Christine, the man was lying to you."_

The look of utter surprise that unfolded across Christine's features at his words was almost comical. Erik bit back a laugh at her expense and instead raised his eyebrows at her shock. "Really, my dear, you should stop believing the best in people. It must be tiresome to learn over and over again that no one is ever quite what they seem."

In her astonishment, Christine had stopped walking, coming to a stand still on the corner outside Blanc's office. Erik nudged her slightly and held out a hand in front of him, indicating that they should resume their pace. Christine exhaled heavily, falling into step beside him once again. "Yes, yes, I know, Erik. I am naive and a fool, and I never should have suspected that Blanc had nothing to do with Raoul's murder." She said this in such a way, that had he not known her better, Erik would have imagined she was mocking him.

In the silence that followed her words, though, his lips quirked as he realized that was exactly what she had been doing. It seemed Christine had truly grown up in his absence – perhaps he really did not know her so well now.

"_What_?" she asked after a moment, her eyes narrowing at his amused expression. "I'm not exactly sure how this situation could be described as humorous."

"It's nothing." Erik replied smoothly. "I am only thinking of the ways in which you continue to surprise me. You have come a long way from the girl you were at the Opera House, Christine."

"Thank you," she said simply, the look in her eyes filling in the things she did not dare say to him.

They were still walking side by side down the streets surrounding Blanc's office. Erik guided them down back streets and less crowded ones to avoid the gazes of those who would have frowned upon spotting a young woman and a masked man together in the daylight. Christine, however, did not seem to be feeling any discomfort at taking the chance of being seen with him. He glanced down at her, only to find that she was looking up at him.

She met his eyes and smiled slightly, before letting silence fall between them once again.

Erik was not exactly sure how they had reached their tenuous truce, but he was grateful for it all the same. He did not imagine it would last much longer – perhaps only until they discovered who killed her husband – but he would enjoy her company until then. The civility was more than he had dared dream of after she had been flung back into his life.

Another moment passed before Christine broke the silence. "So, then, you believe Blanc is the man responsible for Raoul's death?"

"I did not say that, Christine," Erik replied. "I merely–"

She cut across him (rather shrilly, he thought) before he could finish. "Yes, you did! You just said that he lied to me, Erik! You cannot expect–"

He held up a gloved hand to call for her silence. Her voice faded almost immediately at his request. "Christine, I did not mean to imply that Blanc killed your husband; I only meant that he most likely knows who did. I believe that makes him guilty of a few distasteful things, although none of them may be murder."

"Oh. I see." She smiled meekly, embarrassed, before continuing. "But what makes you think he is lying, then? Why would he not tell us the truth if he isn't behind all of this?"

Erik shrugged. "Of that, I am not entirely sure. He could be an accomplice to the crime, or a friend to the murderer." He paused, considering. "Perhaps he has been threatened, told to keep quiet or he will join de Chagny in death. Whatever the case, he knows more than he let on. All of his answers seemed too perfect, too practiced."

Christine winced almost imperceptibly. "If Blanc had a hand in Raoul's death…that means, well… How many people do you think are involved in all of this, Erik?"

Erik thought for a moment. "Well, we know that your attacker and your husband's murderer may not be the same person. You said you did not recognized the man who attempted to kill you, which means that Roux, Blanc, and Mercier are at least innocent of that crime."

"It does not absolve them of Raoul's death, however."

"Exactly. But Christine, there is a good chance that there are quite a few people who celebrated the night of your husband's death." He paused for a moment, unsure if Christine could stand what he was about to say. He reminded himself that coddling her was almost an insult to the woman she had become, and continued. "It would not be a stretch to believe that these same men will not rest until they can cheer over your own passing."

"I know," she replied, her voice shaking. "I have thought the same thing, Erik."

He was suddenly struck by the images of finding her lying, broken and bruised, on the ground. His hand found hers for the briefest of moments, as he said, firmly, "I promise you, Christine, it will not come to that."

They rounded the corner in silence, both of them lost in thought. Erik was guiding them through the streets without much thought, his familiarity with the streets not requiring much thought on his part. It was because of this, though, that he did not take a moment to think about what path they were taking. In fact, it was not until Christine let out a small gasp and clutched tightly at his arm that he realized his error.

He had unwittingly led them both back to the alley where Christine had been attacked.

"Erik," she murmured softly. "I cannot see this place…"

She trailed off, her eyes wide and darting from place to place. She staggered just enough to make Erik glance down at her – her skin looked so pale that it was very nearly translucent. "Christine," he muttered, "please think twice before fainting."

"I would not do that on purpose, _Erik_," she ground out, the annoyance in her tone belying how fragile she still looked. "I just do not think that taking me down the alley where I almost _died_ would be an intelligent idea."

"I am of the same opinion, my angel," he replied. "We will go a different way, so long as you promise to stay conscious. I believe I have mentioned before the…ah, _resistance_ we might face if someone such as myself were to be seen carrying you down the streets of our respectable Paris."

Christine managed a shaky laugh, then turned to walk back the other way. Erik fell into step beside her, but it only took a few paces before Christine abruptly stopped walking.

"Christine?" he asked, spinning to face her. "Are you all right?"

She nodded, her eyes unfocused as she stared back at the alley. "I am fine, Erik. I only – I just thought…Maybe..."

"Yes?" he prompted, a touch of impatience coloring his tone.

"Maybe it would be better for me to see the alley; maybe it will help me remember."

Erik shook his head slowly, taking a moment to process her words. He could not deny that he had thought the same thing upon realizing that he had taken them back to this place. But he also couldn't deny that the very idea of making Christine face these horrible memories made him feel ill. The risk didn't seem worth taking.

"Christine, I'm not sure how wise that would be."

"Erik, quit treating me like a child. You know that there's a chance I could recall something important. And if that would help us solve Raoul's murder, I cannot walk away from the opportunity just because I'm afraid!" Though she was still deathly pale, her voice was steady and the look in her eyes was one of sheer determination.

Erik swallowed a sigh. He did not think he could stop her if he tried. "If you are sure…"

"I am sure," was her nearly immediate reply.

A small smile played on his lips. "After you, then."

No, Erik thought, he did not know _this_ Christine very well at all.


	13. Revelations

**A/N**: So… three things. The first is that it's only been one month since I've updated. Yay! The second is that I'm thinking there are about three chapters left. And the third is that I'm kind of bummed that the last chapter only got three reviews. I know I'm a terrible updater, but if anyone is still reading, I'd love to hear from you! Just so I know that at least a few people care. (:

And now back to our regularly scheduled programming.

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_A small smile played on his lips. "After you, then."_

_No, Erik thought, he did not know this Christine very well at all. _

As they retraced their steps back to the alley where Christine had been attacked, she tried not to focus on the feeling of dread making a home in the pit of her stomach. She was also making a valiant attempt at ignoring the chills racing through her body and the slight tremor in her hands. None of her discomfort mattered now – she had to do this. It was the only way, Christine reminded herself, that more information about all that had happened could come to light. That she felt seconds away from fainting really held no relevance at this point. If there were even the slightest chance she could recall a detail about her attacker… well, she had to risk exacerbating her distress.

With a start, Christine realized they had already reached the entrance to the alley. And curiously enough, she found her feet would take her no further. She stopped, frozen in place, with Erik coming to a halt beside her.

"Christine?"

His voice pulled her from her thoughts and focused her attention back on him. She angled her head toward him, but did not meet his eyes, afraid of what she might see in them.

"Yes?" She noted with some pride that her voice still remained steady. If nothing else, she could at least act the part of the stoic widow. Maybe her time at the opera house would prove useful once more.

"If you are having second thoughts, I will think no less of you if you would rather return to your home."

Christine took a deep breath. No, she did not imagine Erik would hold this against her; he would, however, begin to rethink his opinion that she had become something more than a fragile ingénue. But more than having to face his disappointment, she would have to face her own. That, it seemed, she could not do. She refused to be the cowering little girl she had once been. She was stronger now, and she had to act like it, despite whatever anxiety she felt. She would do this.

Resolutely, Christine lifted her eyes to his. "Though perhaps _you_ would not think less of me for turning back, _I _would." A watery chuckle fell from her lips. "Besides, this cannot be any worse than what I have faced before."

Erik's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "No," he said quietly. "No, it cannot."

Then, with a decisive nod meant to convince herself that she could do this, Christine took a step into the alley. Erik let her lead, following her slow pace without complaint. She remembered the twist and turns around the store backs with almost frightful clarity, but despite the horrible memories the alley housed, it really was, she noted dryly, very normal looking. The walls on either side of her could have belonged to shops in any part of Paris.

Having stopped walking, Christine turned to Erik. "Do you think – I mean, will I just start remembering?"

Erik chuckled humorlessly. "I am not sure how this works, Christine. Perhaps you should walk yourself through what happened that day."

She shuddered at the thought, although she knew he was right. "I think I would rather spend the rest of my life as La Carlotta's personal servant."

This time, Erik's short laugh held a note of sincerity. "I am not so sure about that, my dear. You would be subject to quite a lot of her croaking."

She smiled, forgetting for a moment where they were and what they were doing here. "If only I knew an Opera Ghost who could help me with my problems."

Erik smirked, but made no response, and the alley fell silent once more. The lack of noise unnerved her, and Christine knew she could no longer delay the inevitable. She took a deep breath, and tried to control her still trembling hands. "I'll do my best to avoid fainting," she said wryly, "but really, Erik, I make no promises."

And with that, she forced herself to remember of the attack she had so painstakingly avoided thinking of. It was not that hard, of course, as the events had made themselves frequent visitors to her dreams, despite her reluctance to recall them in daylight hours. Flashes of her exit from the church where she had been remembering her father flooded her mind. And as they did, Christine began pacing around the alley in the hopes that the walking might keep her anchored to reality. Erik stood back, his yellow eyes tracking her every move.

_"Good evening, Christine de Chagny," a voice whispered in her ear. "I've been waiting for a long time to get you alone."_

She froze instinctively as her attacker's words floated back to her, but she forced herself to continue remembering. The alley in her memory remained unchanged from the one she was in at the moment, and nothing about her surroundings gave any other useful clue.

_"Now, now, my dear," the man said, grinning sardonically, "there's no reason to look so frightened – not yet at least. Didn't I tell you I've waited for such a long time to do this?"_

Christine shuddered, but continued moving about the alley. She remembered all the places she had been thrown, had fallen, had run to that night. And she felt herself subconsciously going through the motions of the attack.

_The man loomed over her, leering. "Having fun, Christine?"_

There was still nothing familiar about his voice or the clothing he was wearing, except that…

"Erik!" Christine cried suddenly, causing him to move swiftly to her side.

"Are you all right?" he asked, and although his tone was smooth and controlled, his eyes were blazing with an unreadable emotion.

"I think – well, it may be nothing, but there's the slightest chance that this could be useful, and just it case it is, I thought–"

"Just say it, Christine," Erik cut in gently, a small smile threatening to appear on his lips.

"The way the man said my name, it was the same way Monsieur Roux said it when he visited me after the attack. Their tones were both impudent – they assumed too much familiarity for not knowing me very well." Christine said this all in a rush, unsure of where the idea had come from and why she had not realized it before.

Erik, however, remained skeptical. "Impropriety does not stand as evidence," he said. "And in any case, I'm not sure it means much, or is all that uncommon – Blanc used your given name back in his office."

"I know, but not in the same way," Christine insisted. "I can't explain it, Erik, but there is something familiar about the man who attacked me and Alexandre Roux!" She knew it sounded bizarre, but even as she said the words, she knew she was onto something.

Erik made no response, but seemed to consider this at length. This left Christine to continue her recollection, and all at once, the man was back in her mind's eye. This time, instead of focusing on what he was saying, she tried to focus on his appearance. That he was tall and broad-shouldered with black hair made him fairly unremarkable, but his clothes were well-tailored and of good quality. His coat, too, was not worn.

"Have you remembered something else?" Erik asked, his attention back on her.

"Well," she began slowly, "only that the man was unfamiliar."

"To me, as well. Although, I would recognize him now, if I were to see him again," Erik said darkly.

Christine considered this for a moment before saying, "I do believe he's done his best to avoid coming near either of us." She took a breath. "I also know he had money. His clothes were not particularly memorable, but they weren't rags."

Erik's mouth tightened into a flat line. "It would not surprise me to find that the attacker had known your husband personally."

Christine nodded her agreement, but offered up nothing else. Instead, she let her mind wander back to the attack, but found that nothing else helpful was appearing. As her injuries become more and more severe, she had been cognizant of less and less of what was happening around her.

_Then, a voice rang out. It was deep and full of barely controlled rage. "If you wish to be alive in the morning, Monsieur, release the girl."_

After another moment or two, Erik's voice – this time in reality – cut across her thoughts. "Is there anything else?"

There still wasn't, and Christine knew there would be no other revelations. Although she could describe the fear she felt and the way the ground had cut into her, she could provide nothing else that might lead them to the attacker. Her idea that Roux was more directly involved than they had previously thought was helpful, but they were really no closer to solving the mystery than before. All this, and for nothing.

Christine shook her head. "Only that I am glad you found me when you did. I don't think I can thank you enough for saving my life."

Erik waved off her gratitude with a dark look and a darker tone, as he said, "I would not thank me so much, Christine, since I did not arrive in time to prevent you from being hurt."

Knowing that he would accept no more of her insistences that she was alive only because of him (and she knew she was), Christine changed the subject. "I think – I am ready to leave now, Erik," she said in a small voice. "Perhaps we can discuss the rest of the matter back at the estate."

"As you wish, my angel."

At his words, Christine led the way back out of the alley, her pace much quicker now that she was leaving. When the street reappeared, full of people so blissfully unaware of such horrible things, she let out a breath she had not known she was holding. A small sob followed, a pathetic sound ripped from her chest, and tears began to prick at the corner of her eyes. She did not want to cry – not in front of Erik, not in front of anyone – but it seemed she did not have much of a choice in the matter. She heard, rather than saw, Erik walk up behind her. She waited for him to say something about her returning to her old ways by crying, but instead she felt his hand on her shoulder.

"I'm proud of you, Christine."

His words, spoken quietly, but ringing with sincerity, tore at her resolve. Impulsively, Christine turned and threw her arms around Erik, pulling him into a tight hug. She noted with a touch of amusement that, at least in this, she had finally caught him off guard. Rather than push her away as he might have done once, he returned the embrace after a moment, resting his arms lightly around her.

And as they stood together, her tears falling freely and the horrible alley only a few feet away, Christine wondered if she was not the only one who had changed.


End file.
